


Do Not Hide From Me

by weepingnaiad



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-18
Updated: 2009-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>  Elrond meets a young wood-elf prince and finds himself quite smitten with the golden haired prince, despite his king’s misgivings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Hide From Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** Chaotic_Binky, the ever wonderful! Thanks so much, hon!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters and world belong to the Master himself, Tolkien. I am only borrowing them so they can come out and frolic a bit, not intending any copyright infringement of any sort. I do own my original characters, but they are available for parties!
> 
>  **A/N 1:** This was written for the Ardor in August fic swap. The request was: I like tough characters. I'd also like there to be some sort of conflict between the two main characters, without fluff or BDSM. Don’t know how well I met the request, but here goes.
> 
>  **A/N 2:** Orodiel is from the Council of Elrond’s site and means ‘daughter of the mountain’. Thanks to Ennorwen for the use of her creation, mîdhthond, a ‘natural’ lubricant.

_Lindon, 1250 Second Age_

Elrond leaned casually against the railing, watching. His mithril hued eyes appeared to be surveying the strengths and weaknesses of the warriors, but they never strayed far from the sweating, shirtless, tall, blond elf as he sparred in the setting sun. His muscular torso was streaked with orange, pink, and purple light as he spun, parried, and feinted.

“If you want him so badly, why are you not the one on the practice field?”

Elrond whirled and glared at a madly grinning Gildor.

“You son of a warg!” They embraced warmly before Elrond pulled away and punched Gildor in the shoulder. “You are late for the party. Where have you been?”

Gildor chuckled, “I have been busy with my own duties. Walk with me… if you can tear your eyes from that one…”

Protesting was futile, so Elrond glanced back at the sparring arena one last time and watched the warrior disarm his foe and topple him to his back in one swift move. Elrond’s eyes lingered on the bare chest and biceps before sliding up and meeting bright emerald eyes, the expression unreadable from this distance, but the intense gaze held him captive.

A short, sharp laugh broke the spell and he turned to find Gildor smirking at him. “You have it bad, my friend. Tell me about him while we walk. The king awaits my news.”

~~*~~

Elrond rushed into the council chambers, straightening his papers and robe as he went. He released the breath he had been holding and smiled brightly, slowing his step and visibly relaxing when he realized that it was only Erestor in the room.

Erestor looked up and smirked. “I am pleased to see you, too, Herald. But not half as pleased as you are to **_not_** find Ereinion already in attendance, I imagine?” The councilor cocked an eyebrow in question. “And what has delayed you this morn?”

Elrond sat in his chair, to Erestor’s left, and shrugged. “I merely overslept. It seems there is a puzzle I have been trying to solve…”

“A puzzle? What kind?” Erestor loved puzzles and he leaned forward, his eyes bright.

“Not that kind of puzzle,” Elrond shook his head, smiling. “There is a new warrior… likely he came with one of the many retinues for these meetings, but I am having trouble finding out anything about him… not even his name…” He would have continued, but the bells began to toll and the large double doors were thrown open to allow the rest of the council members access to the chamber.

Elrond nodded pleasantly to King Amdír, Lords Círdan and Celeborn, smiled brightly at Gildor, and then froze, as all air was suddenly stolen from his lungs. The object of his interest stepped gracefully into the room at King Oropher’s side.

Erestor nudged Elrond with his elbow and whispered without taking his eyes from the arriving guests. “Close your mouth. And, shall I wager that you have now solved your puzzle?” Before the councilor could make a snide comment about the missing Celebrimbor, Gil-galad was striding into the room and quickly called the council to order.

~~*~~

Oropher stood first, his displeasure at the proceedings written clearly on his patrician features. He glared at the others around the table and turned toward the doors. Before the king reached the exit, Thranduil quickly stood, hastily gathering papers, and following hurriedly in the king’s wake, his features schooled into the implacable mask he always wore.

Elrond swore under his breath as he watched Oropher turn his back on their concord. His eyes briefly met and held a green gaze before the prince was gone in a rustle of fabric and long blond tresses flicked idly behind him.

Gil-galad chuckled and Celeborn joined in, until even Círdan had to laugh. “ ** _That_** went well,” the king remarked drolly. He clapped Elrond on the back and grinned. “Do not look so dour. We have time to convince the Sinda king of the soundness of our plans. A few meetings thrown out the window will not matter in the long run.”

The rest of the council members stood and slowly filed out, but before Elrond could stand, he felt a restraining hand on his arm.

“Stay. I would like a moment of your time.” Gil-galad’s voice was quiet, but held an undertone that caused Elrond to tense. Nodding to the others, he relaxed back into his seat and watched Erestor gather up the scrolls after everyone left. When Erestor returned to Gil’s side, the easy companionship between the two made Elrond smile wistfully, and his heart lurched a bit when he realized how much he wanted someone at his side like that. Unbidden, green eyes and an arrogant visage swam into his mind. He sighed audibly and ran his hands through his hair, before focusing on his king. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”

Gil-galad nodded to Erestor who smiled softly and left without a word, closing the large doors behind him. The king gazed intently at Elrond until the silence stretched awkwardly and Elrond shifted under the unblinking stare. He began wiggling a toe in his boot to keep from fidgeting like a small elfling.

Gil sat back and took a deep breath before beginning. “It is about Oropher’s son. I had heard about your interest and now have seen the same with my own eyes. He ignores you, yet your eyes linger and do not stray far from his at each council meeting.”

Elrond froze, paling at being discovered.

Gil leaned forward and patted the peredhel’s shoulder. “Have no fear. He **_is_** quite beautiful, and his frozen arrogance makes one want to throw him to the conference table and make him come undone… watch that mask he wears shatter… see those eyes turn dark as night.”

Gil continued, concern now lacing his voice. “Just remember. Use caution with your dealings with him. Oropher is quite charismatic and somehow persuaded the Silvans of the Greenwood that they needed him as their king.” Gil’s voice was filled with surprise at that feat. “But, he is no true king, simply one favored by Thingol, so he guards his position and power harshly. If you were to come between him and his plans for the Greenwood…” He sighed. “Just be careful… aye?”

Elrond nodded, his eyes meeting Gil’s. “But, his son… Thranduil is… he is not his father…” He shrugged, unable to put into words all the swirling thoughts and emotions he felt whenever he thought of the prince.

Gil smiled fondly at Elrond. His Herald was not young, but he was quite uncertain after experiencing more than his share of heartbreak. He had a few short-lived liaisons but mostly held himself apart. This seemed to be on a completely different level for the peredhel and Gil felt responsible for helping him through whatever the outcome would be. “You do have it bad. Gildor was not wrong.” He stood suddenly and tugged Elrond up. “There is a dance tonight… just be careful when you go after the prince.” He winked at Elrond because he had no doubt his herald was determined to do just that. “Speaking of the dance… I have to get ready myself.”

Elrond nodded, grateful for the concern, but he knew that Thranduil was not merely his father’s son. “Until later, your Highness.” He bowed and left.

~~*~~

The large ballroom sparkled and shimmered, candlelight reflecting from a myriad of cut glass, crystal, and gemstone surfaces. A soft sea breeze billowed through the curtains, keeping the room pleasantly refreshed. Music swelled in the back ground and the dance floor already had couples on it, twirling and swaying in time to the beat. Elrond smiled briefly, suddenly hesitant. Gildor noticed his reticence and cupped a firm hand around the peredhel’s elbow and urged Elrond forward into the room, while whispering, “You need to get back out there, and this night is the perfect opportunity.”

Elrond felt himself propelled forward and soon found that he was standing at the drinks table, automatically accepting a glass of the Lindon red wine he favored from the attendant. He turned to complain to Gildor, but his words died in his throat, on a soft gasp.

There at the large double doors at the top of the steps stood Thranduil, Prince of the Greenwood. If Elrond thought he was something to behold on the training arena, or in the council chambers, he had no idea. Neither setting could compare. The prince stood proudly in a sage green tunic, over beige leggings. His hair was free, but for small braids at the side and the mithril twining circlet on his brow. His clothes were simple, but even from this distance their fine quality shone in the sparkling light and hugged his well formed body, highlighting it almost suggestively.

Gildor spun to see what had caught Elrond’s attention and grinned widely. “Well, now that you know his name, you should at least ask him to dance. With such long legs, I am certain he is a fine dancer, my friend.” The wanderer smirked and clapped Elrond on the shoulder. “Go on. I doubt he bites… just stay away from Lord Galion or the king. Either of them likely will.”

Gildor walked away, leaving Elrond standing there, gaping, his heart pounding in his ears as Thranduil seemed to be heading straight for him. Feeling his face heat, Elrond quickly turned away, looking at the array of vintages and drinks offered. He took several deep breaths and counted to himself when he realized that the prince had approached the table and was standing so near he could feel the heat radiating from him.

Thranduil ordered a light white wine and turned around at the same time as Elrond. Their eyes met and the world seemed to still for a moment. The prince cleared his throat and nodded in greeting, breaking the contact, his expression carefully schooled. “Lord Elrond? I thought that was you.” His voice carried the barest hint of what sounded like relief. “It is good to see a familiar face amongst so many.”

“Prince Thranduil. I am glad you could join us tonight…” Elrond faltered as his mouth went dry. He took a sip of wine and licked his lips. He **_could_** do this. He tilted his head to the prince and gave a soft, questioning smile. “Would you care to dance?” As the words leapt out of his mouth, he cursed their rashness, but stilled, hopeful for a positive answer.

For the briefest instant, Thranduil’s polite visage collapsed, leaving him open and exposed. His eyes and mouth revealed uncertainty and an aching vulnerability before the cool, impassive façade quickly returned with a curt nod.

Elrond witnessed the flash and his stomach clenched in recognition. He understood all too well the burden of being a position, a title, before being an elf. He was saddened for the young prince that he could not even accept a dance request without thinking there would be a price for it. A fierce protective urge enveloped him and Elrond gently linked their hands and led Thranduil to the dance floor. “Come on, then. Surely your minder cannot object to dancing,” he teased, trying to break the tension between them.

Thranduil stiffened and then relaxed, chuckling when he got the joke. He ducked his head and increased their pace. “You have **_no_** idea what Galion can find objectionable,” he retorted, smiling widely.

Elrond returned the grin and found that the prince was even more breathtaking when he smiled.

~~*~~

Gil-galad nudged Erestor who turned away from his conversation with Gildor to see what the king wanted. His eyes followed the king’s slightly tipped head and he raised a questioning eyebrow. “What?” he asked Gil.

“Our Herald has not left the dance floor almost the entire night. He has danced with no one but that **_‘prince’_** from the Greenwood. You do not find this unusual… intriguing… worrying?” Gil-galad appeared unconcerned, but mistrust for the Sinda prince caused him to fret.

Gildor shook his head and interrupted. “Nay. They are having fun together, and they have managed to keep all propriety… even Galion has not frowned once in their direction. You both know that Elrond has long needed a distraction...” He paused, before continuing, “And the prince is likely as isolated as Elrond, if not more so. Just leave them be. What harm can there be in it?”

Erestor looked from Gildor to Gil-galad and then appraised the couple on the dance floor for a few long minutes while finishing his drink. He turned back to his king and friend and spoke quietly. “I have no fondness for the heavy hand that Oropher uses within his new ‘kingdom’, but…” here he held up his hand to forestall Gil’s inevitable argument. “ ** _But_** , I withhold my judgment on the prince. He is young yet, and might be just what Elrond needs.” As far as Erestor was concerned that was the end of the discussion. He set his empty glass down and nodded to Gildor. “I am going to turn in. It has been a long day. Goodnight, Gildor.” He gave a soft, enigmatic smile to Gil-galad, “Goodnight, Highness,” before leaving.

Both elves returned the farewell before Gildor nudged Gil-galad. “It **_has_** been a long day…”

“Aye.” Gil-galad drained his cup and setting it aside, he grinned wolfishly at the wanderer. “And my ‘bed’ is calling to me most insistently.” He turned to follow Erestor. “Good night, old friend.”

“Good night, your Highness.” Gildor winked at Gil before watching him leave. He turned back to the dance floor and watched for a few minutes more. Of the remaining couples, the peredhel and the prince stood out. The raven black head tilted toward a golden crowned one; their movements in perfect harmony as though they had danced long years together. All in all, they made an attractive and striking couple, and looked so **_right_** together. Gildor smiled softly and took his leave, his heart gladdened for his friend.

~~*~~

The candles began to flicker and sputter and even the heartiest revelers were leaving for their beds. Elrond only noticed when the music stopped. He quickly looked up to catch the musicians’ eyes. He was not yet ready to stop dancing. Lindir only shook his head tiredly and waved. The rest were already packing up or had left the stage.

Suddenly faced with no music and no excuse to continue to hold the prince in his arms, Elrond stepped back and met Thranduil’s gaze. The sparkling green eyes decided him. “The time has passed too swiftly. I find myself unwilling to part with your company just yet. Would you care to go for a walk?” His grey eyes were shimmering.

Thranduil smiled brightly, his voice a bit rough from the near constant laughing and talking they had done all night. “Aye, but I am parched. Can we get a drink first?”

Elrond snagged a bottle of light white wine as his answer and practically dragged them from the ballroom, out into the clear, moonlit night. His excitement at being completely alone with the prince made him incautious. Neither elf noticed that narrowed eyes watched them leave the great hall.

They shared the bottle as they walked, their bodies drawn close, but they kept a barely perceptible distance, propriety still plaguing their interactions, even as hands, hips, and limbs brushed together in the briefest of touches. Elrond led them into the private gardens atop the citadel. The scent of night blooming jasmine permeated the air. Thranduil’s feet slowed and he gasped in amazement. “A garden? Here? Are we not on top of the castle?”

Elrond cocked his head, watching the prince, pleased that he had at last shown him something that wiped all trace of royal arrogance from his face and left nothing but raw beauty in its wake. The peredhel grinned. “Aye. Come on. There is more.”

As they walked, their fingers brushed again and again and finally their hands intertwined while Thranduil touched, smelled, and lingered over each plant or tree. His joy at being amongst green and living things was boundless and the sight made Elrond’s heart sing.

When they had at last wended their way through the entire garden and stood at the sea wall, Elrond’s heart was beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. All the tender touches and softly whispered words of appreciation had gone straight to his groin. He tried to fight the attraction, the pull the prince exerted, because he had promised himself that he would not take advantage, but standing next to the prince as he exhaled a soft moan proved to be too much.

Elrond turned and uttered an answering moan. The prince was standing against the thigh-high wall, leaning forward slightly, his face uplifted to the full moon which caressed his golden head and traced lovingly along defined cheekbones, long lashes, and soft, parted lips. He stood in Ithil’s light, open and unguarded and Elrond **_needed_** , as he had not before.

Thranduil’s eyelids fluttered open and met Elrond’s. The prince swallowed thickly and then leaned toward the peredhel, their heated gaze never wavering as they were slowly drawn together. Their lips met tentatively at first, but the press of soft flesh seemed to fortify their courage and both opened to questing tongues and hands.

Elrond reached up and ran his hand through blond hair before resting it against Thranduil’s scalp, caressing it as he held the prince in place and deepened the kiss. The first taste set him afire and he wanted so much more, wanted to taste and touch all at once. He rested one hand on a trim hip and pulled, urging the prince closer.

Thranduil arched into the sweet kiss and moaned as it turned heavy and deep. He reached up, holding onto Elrond’s biceps to steady himself when he felt his knees threatening to give way. He was no inexperienced maiden, but somehow the peredhel’s kiss and touches had sent him back in time, back to his first clumsy encounters when need and want overrode patience and skill. He opened to Elrond’s kiss, gave himself over to his mouth and hands and reveled in them, completely forgetting himself.

Elrond’s hand slid over Thranduil’s warm skin as he snaked it under the prince’s tunic and shirt, his palm hovering over a twitching abdomen muscle. He groaned at the feeling and pulled away, breathless. Panting, he stared into the deepest green eyes he had ever beheld. He dove into them and felt himself falling and never wanting to stop.

“We should… go back to my room?” Elrond managed to gasp out.

Thranduil hurriedly looked around and shook his head. “Nay… here… let us do it here, amongst green and living things, not within stone walls…”

Elrond looked at the prince, the moonlit sea stretching to the horizon behind him. He finally tore his eyes away and nodded his agreement, uncaring that they were in the royal gardens.

The prince took Elrond’s hand and led him to a sheltering copse of trees where the ground was covered with soft moss. He stopped and turned to Elrond, his skillful hands making quick work of the many fastenings of the formal robes before sliding them off the peredhel’s broad shoulders. Thranduil’s eyes swept hungrily over the strong chest, barely concealed by a thin shirt. Soon enough it was unlaced and pulled over Elrond’s head so that he was now standing in the shifting shadows, half clothed, while Thranduil ran strong, bow calloused hands over his chest, arms, and back. Elrond could not stifle his sighs and moans and leaned into each warm caress.

Smiling softly, Elrond could take no more and pulled Thranduil’s hands together within his, stilling them. “It is my turn, ernilen.” Anticipation at finally touching the pale skin and rippling muscles that he had seen on the practice field whetted his desire and he bit his lip at the open acceptance in the emerald gaze.

Thranduil thrilled at the idea that he could be Elrond’s prince, the name seeming more intimate than even his own when uttered in the peredhel’s deep, resonate voice. He willingly stilled his hands and calmly stood as his tunic was slowly removed and then his shirt. His heart beat a frantic note in his chest, but he did not move until a warm, wet mouth sucked on his nipple. Crying out, he arched into the wicked tongue as he threw his head back and reached out to steady himself. He was held firmly, Elrond’s strong arms encircling his torso as his mouth licked and teased the prince’s flesh.

Groaning as he was swept away, Thranduil uttered one soft word, “More!”

Elrond complied and laid them both down on the soft mossy bed. In the subtle, shifting light Thranduil’s eyes were dark pools and his lips were red and kiss swollen. None had ever been so beautiful in his eyes. He covered the prince’s body with his own and leant down, seizing soft lips in a desperate kiss. He was overheated and his desire and need were rapidly spiraling out of control, but he could do nothing to slow the heady rush forward, especially when Thranduil bucked up into him, pressing a firm arousal into his hip.

The prince stared up into Elrond’s face, the dappled moonlight behind him making it difficult to discern much except for a heated mithril gazed devouring him. He suddenly felt flushed and **_wanted_**. His hands slid down the strong back and worked their way into suede leggings where he could cup firm flesh.

Leaning closer to capture Thranduil's lips once more in a fiery kiss, Elrond allowed his raven hair to fall in a curtain about the prince's face, obscuring its view from the nature surrounding them so that only his hungry gaze could selfishly fall upon it. The raven-haired ellon arched his back and shuddered as he felt the prince's warm hands slip beneath the waistband of his leggings.

When Elrond spoke, he struggled to form coherent words and his voice was rough while his breathing labored. “How do you expect me to deny you when you beg so sweetly, ernilen?” Elrond’s eyes darkened to the color of steel as a hand slid between their bodies, reaching to cup the firm arousal that begged for his touch. “My king warned me of this, to be careful of your kind, but I think I might die if I stayed away…”

Elrond’s words were like fire searing into his heart and soul, claiming him with their heated wickedness. Gasping as he was touched, Thranduil’s head spun and he could form no words, just soft moans. He struggled with Elrond’s leggings needing to see and touch all of the peredhel’s fine form. The laces tangled, but he soon had them undone and was tugging at the soft fabric, all the while trying to kiss his mouth and any flesh that was near his lips.

When Thranduil was unable to answer him, nor protest, Elrond’s lips curved up into a wicked smile. Once the lacings of his leggings were undone, he wriggled out of them, kicking off his boots, fully removing every last shred of clothing so that he might have the pleasure of removing Thranduil’s own and pressing their bodies together with nothing more than heat between them.

The scent of moss was thick and rich in his nostrils, and the combination of that with the prince’s own scent was heady and intoxicated him far more quickly than any measure of alcohol could. Thranduil’s leggings were next, but Elrond was less than careful. Somehow, he managed to pull too hard and fabric ripped at the seams. Reaching out to grasp Thranduil’s chin, he pulled those sweet lips toward his own. “You are not making this easy, ernilen…”

Thranduil groaned at the vision above him. Elrond was strongly muscled and his arousal was heavy and well-shaped. A frisson of desire, of need, shot through the prince at the thought that soon he would sheath that. “Nay!” shot from his lips when Elrond tore his leggings. The sound of ripping fabric sent heat straight to his groin. None dared treat him this way! He reached up and pulled Elrond down, sliding against the firm erection. “This is not supposed to be easy, milord… since you have been warned about me… should you not be more careful?” The prince licked a slow trail along Elrond’s neck up to his ear where he whispered breathily. “Can you handle me?”

Elrond took a deep breath, nearly choking on the air he swallowed suddenly at Thranduil’s equally teasing words. His cheeks were on fire now, and the throbbing in his groin was becoming almost painful. His eyelids fluttered shut as that wicked tongue traced the length of his neck, causing Elrond to instinctually reach for Thranduil’s wrist, grabbing it firmly and pressing it into the soft bed of moss beneath their bodies.

“Can I handle you? You are not the first one I have broken, ernilen,” Elrond purred silkily, emphasizing his words with a pointed thrust of his hips against the prince’s own. Trailing his fingers slowly down Thranduil’s strong, smooth chest, the raven-haired elf’s eyes twinkled even in the darkness as he nibbled an elegant, leaf-shaped ear. “Give me your best. I have all the tools I need to put you in your place, my fiery one.”

Heat pooled in Thranduil’s groin and he moaned, briefly struggling against Elrond’s hold. It was a half-hearted attempt at best and his eyes slammed shut as their arousals were forced together. He meant to twist their positions, but Elrond had him firmly pinned. He was unwilling to admit how much he wanted what Elrond was doing, but he finally gasped out a breathy, “Please?” Already begging beneath the peredhel… his father would be livid, but his position and place were the last things on the prince’s mind at the moment. The only thing he cared about was getting more of Elrond’s touches.

Thranduil moaned and begged so sweetly for the unspoken that Elrond was no longer able to deny himself or the lovely creature beneath him. Nipping sharply at the golden-haired ellon’s tender earlobe, the Noldo kissed his way down the smooth expanse of Thranduil’s chest, over his firm belly as his hands slid their ways down strong thighs. Mithril eyes gazed up at Thranduil, desperate. “May I taste you, ernilen? I am most certain you taste just as sweet as you beg, but I must know for myself…”

Thranduil writhed and nodded as his chest shuddered. The peredhel had turned him inside out, taken him apart with barely more than kisses and soft words. He had never felt such want and had never had one treat him so brazenly. It was a new sensation and one that he instantly craved. “Please… Gods… please!” His hands scrabbled for purchase, one tangling in a nearby tree root while the other slid through dark tresses to steady himself.

Elrond took great delight in watching Thranduil toss and turn in sweet torment beneath him, and it pleased him even more so to know that he was the cause of the beautiful prince’s need. Allowing himself to pull his eyes away from the lovely face beneath him, Elrond’s lust-darkened gaze trailed down the strong warrior’s body to the long, elegant shaft protruding from a fine, sparse nest of deep golden hairs. He trailed his fingers appreciatively over its length, allowing himself to lean in and sample the Greenwood prince’s rich scent before his tongue was allowed a taste, carefully swiping the underside as he quirked an eyebrow up, awaiting his lover’s reaction.

A long, low moan issued from his parted lips and Thranduil thrust up into the teasing wetness. Between the too soft touches, the long wet swipe of a wicked tongue and those stormy dark eyes, the prince was undone. He tightened his hand in Elrond’s hair and groaned, “Do not tease!”

Elrond answered Thranduil’s desperate pleas with a gentle nip to the underside of the prince’s shaft, allowing his teeth to lightly graze across the sensitive flesh. He took the head into his mouth, reveling in the rich, musky taste of the Sinda elf, before pulling back altogether and silencing Thranduil with a firm kiss. He whispered heated words against the blonde’s cheek, his deep voice coming in a low growl. “Nay, I shall tease you if I desire, for that is all you have done since the moment I first laid eyes upon you. It was from that very moment that I knew I wanted you, ernilen.”

Stormy grey eyes softened as he looked upon Thranduil fondly, his hand reaching between the other’s legs to slowly stroke. “Tell me, my sweet one… What more shall I do to you? I would not have you forget me once we are forced to part.”

Thranduil writhed under the firm assault and arched into Elrond’s kiss, but he stilled, his eyes wide and his breath stolen from him. He reached up to press his finger’s against his lover’s soft lips. “Do not speak of teasing… wanting… and then parting all in the same breath. I do not want to think of anything but being here and now… with you… make love to me?” The prince’s voice ended in a hushed plea.

“Forgive me,” Elrond murmured softly, ever the realist, the pessimist. He allowed himself to be silenced by his golden lover. Thranduil’s voice, and those bright green eyes that shone even in the darkest of places, made him forget all else besides the soft bed of moss beneath them, and the privilege he had been granted. “You are far wiser than your years.”

Reaching out, Elrond ran his fingers slowly through the thick mass of soft, golden hair, gently coaxing Thranduil’s head backwards as he allowed his fingertips to trail slowly up and down the elegant length of his lover’s neck. He chewed his lip for a moment, never one to truly do things in haste. Meeting Thranduil, however, made him realize that he was not so careful after all.

“Do you have anything that we could use to… ease the way? I would not hurt you, even if that might be the only way you remember this night.”

Elrond’s concern touched the prince deeply, more than he wanted to admit and he was unsuccessful with his first attempt to answer. Licking his lips he shook his head. “I did not plan on being seduced this night.” He grinned and cocked his head, thinking. “But, if there is mîdhthond nearby… its thick juice is useful for more than soothing burns.”

Elrond chuckled, realizing that Thranduil was indeed correct. He should have remembered. “You are knowledgeable in herb lore, ernilen. I am impressed. I do believe we have some mîdhthond growing nearby. I know these gardens well.”

The raven-haired ellon sat up reluctantly, not wishing to leave the prince’s side, if even for a moment. Standing, Elrond moved to a nearby pond, the moist soil surrounding it an ideal place for the dewy root to flourish. He caught sight of the burgundy tipped spikes, and carefully extracted the small root from the ground. Moving back to Thranduil, he knelt by his side and smiled as he stripped the bark from the carrot-like root, setting its juices free.

“Impressed? That a wood elf knows about plants?” Thranduil snorted and then lifted up onto his elbows, watching Elrond move in the moonlight. He was graceful, his movements fluid as he quickly and efficiently retrieved and prepared the root. “Should it not be I who is impressed? I thought all Noldor knew were gems and steel… could not care less for living, green things.” His lips curled in a teasing smirk as he ducked his head to pierce Elrond with a wicked gaze.

Elrond laughed, shaking his long mane of dark hair. He feigned anger, but his eyes twinkled with mirth as Thranduil goaded him. “I am sorry to prove you wrong. But it is not only your woodcraft that surprised me. I had believed that you wood elves shunned clothing altogether and stalked about bare-bottomed, uncaring that others might find you to be uncivilized heathens.”

Thranduil laughed at the myth of barbarian wood elves. His heart was light and free and he opened gladly to the tender kiss. Elrond was so different than anything he’d ever been told. His humor was biting and yet he sparkled with a joy for life in all he did. The prince felt warmth spread through him and he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the cause. The peredhel was a gorgeous elf and lusting after him was not surprising.

Elrond leaned in close to kiss Thranduil gently, lightly pressing the prince back down to the ground as he knelt beside him.

Thranduil urged Elrond’s hand down toward his entrance, bending his knees and planting his feet. He was achingly bare and vulnerable, but he trusted Elrond… as he trusted few others.

Elrond felt deeply warmed by the trust Thranduil had placed with him after so little time together. He felt an unspoken connection with the Sinda, one that he had not known in many long years. The blonde ellon made him feel renewed, refreshed, and carefree. Elrond had kept his heart shuttered, promising himself that he would not offer it again, for that always ended badly.

Instead of thinking, he merely took pleasure in Thranduil’s company. As his hand moved between the Sinda’s legs, Elrond felt his cheeks flush slightly as though he were some untried maiden. His hand trembled slightly and he gripped the root too tightly, forcing the honey-like fluid to seep over his hand. He parted his lover’s knees wider and allowed a portion of the mîdhthond to trail along Thranduil’s inner thigh, just beneath his hanging jewels and to the tender, puckered opening between the prince’s legs, thoroughly coating him.

Thranduil bit back a moan and tried to keep from sounding like a human whore, but Elrond’s touches were tender, caring, and something broke inside the prince. He responded with a brief nod and bit his lip as his thighs and finally his opening were laved with the slippery liquid. Unable to completely suppress his reaction, he sighed aloud and willed himself to relax.

Elrond swallowed the groan, threatening to rise from his own throat, as he listened to his lover’s sweet, musical sighs, watching as his legs spread, opening under his touches. “Easy, ernilen…” The Noldo whispered, running a soothing hand over the blonde’s thigh as he pressed the bit of root gently against him, firmly enough to push past the tight ring of muscle the slightest bit. “I shall not hurt you. That is not my intention this night, nor shall it ever be.”

Leaning close to capture Thranduil’s sweet lips in a kiss, Elrond reached down to stroke himself, coating his own cock with the amber-colored liquid, his eyes falling shut in bliss at the mere thought of what the Sinda might feel like. “Are you ready for me?”

Thranduil’s heart threatened to burst from his chest as he was carefully prepared. He wanted Elrond and was most eager to take the peredhel’s shaft into his body. He had never felt this way before and it was deeply surprising, but then everything about Elrond, and how he made the prince feel, was surprising. The tender kiss eased the pounding of his heart and caused a warmth to spread throughout him. The prince nodded. “Aye, melethron… please.”

Elrond twisted the root and then replaced it with his own aching shaft. Thranduil was blistering heat and pressure, wrenching a heartfelt groan from Elrond’s lips as he slowly slid home. He stilled, waiting for the vice-like grip to ease and leaned down to kiss the prince. “Look at me, ernilen. Just me.”

Thranduil panted lightly, trying to relax, but his mind was fighting him, whispering to him in his father’s voice. Elrond’s voice anchored him and he complied, meeting a caring grey gaze. The peredhel smiled and kissed the prince as he shifted his hips and thrust gently.

The kiss was the needed distraction and Thranduil arched into it, forgetting to think. He saw stars after the second thrust and chased Elrond’s tongue. He threw his legs around his lover’s waist and pulled him deeper, Elrond’s mouth swallowing his cries. He arched up, meeting Elrond thrust for thrust as though his life depended on it.

Elrond was surprised by the force of Thranduil’s passion. He tried to be careful, to be restrained, but that was impossible with the golden prince writhing beneath him, moaning and bucking up into him. Their coupling was frantic with need and desire, and all too soon Elrond felt that familiar tightening. He slowed his thrusts, wanting the sensation to continue, but firm heels urged him forward. He barely got a hand between them, and around his lover’s shaft, when the world tilted. Two firm strokes and the prince was crying out, his seed covering Elrond’s hand. The clenching pulled his release from him and he filled his lover before collapsing, breathless to the ground.

As he tried to roll away, strong arms gripped him and held him tight. He felt Thranduil’s heart thrumming, matching the furious pace of his own. Elrond leaned on an elbow so that he did not crush his lover as he rested his head on his chest.

Eyes, heavy lidded, and body boneless, Thranduil’s legs flopped down, but he held tight, enjoying the feeling of having a firm, warm body pressing him into the ground. He tried to keep his eyes open but they shut as he felt soft breaths puffing against his chest.

Elrond lifted his head and brushed golden strands away from Thranduil’s brow. “Are you well, ernilen? I did not hurt you?” His voice was soft, but laced with affection and a hint of concern.

Thranduil forced his eyes open and smiled softly while shaking his head. “Never better, melethron.”

Elrond’s grin was wide as he looked up. “Then we can try this again?”

The prince chuckled, disbelieving, until he felt Elrond’s shaft begin to thicken against his thigh. “You are serious?”

“Aye, but maybe this time we can take it… slower.” Elrond leaned in for a tender kiss and Thranduil found himself responding.

“It is going to be a long night, but I would not have it any other way.” The prince wrapped his arms around Elrond’s neck and pulled them tightly together.

~~*~~

The king and his lover strolled through the gardens, enjoying the peace and solitude of the pre-dawn. Their heads leaned toward each other as they spoke softly, if at all. Often no words were needed, just the warmth of their arms and company as they walked.

Before they made it to the sea wall, Erestor had caught a glimpse of something. He moved from Gil’s side into a copse of trees. The king waited patiently, assuming that his lover had seen a new animal, bird, or plant that grabbed his attention.

Erestor returned and whispered, his hand beckoning, “Can I have your cloak?”

Gil unclasped his cloak and handed it to his lover. He followed him into the copse of trees and stopped, his mouth agape. Erestor turned and pressed a finger to his lips before draping the king’s cloak over the entwined bodies.

Gil was rooted to the spot, until he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Come on!” hissed Erestor. “We do not want to wake them.”

The king had no words and followed in silence, his thoughts swirling.

Erestor stopped at the sea wall, his back turned from the expanse of ocean and the lightening sky as he smiled softly up at his lover. He reached for the king, who stepped into his arms and encircled him tightly. Erestor inhaled and rested his head on the strong chest. He whispered, “They make a beautiful couple…”

The king replied, his voice brushing against the dark head, “That might be, meleth, but this is highly inappropriate behavior… it is sheer luck that it was you and I that came upon them!”

Erestor chuckled softly. “It is not the first time that bower has been used in this manner… and you well know it. Besides… these are **_your_** private gardens… who else would have chanced upon them?”

Gil shrugged, unwilling to let the matter drop so easily. “Any number of gardeners… or what if there had been a tour planned for the guests?”

Erestor lifted his head to fix his dark brown gaze on the king. “A tour?” he snorted. “What is your real concern?”

“I told you before… I do not trust the prince… and am merely trying to think of what is best for Elrond. After all… he does not need further heartbreak.”

Erestor reached up and soothed the creases between his lover’s brow. “He is a grown elf… well past his majority and able to look after himself. He wanted this; allow him the space to deal with it… **_all_** of it.”

Gil-galad nodded mutely, leaning into the warm touch. He bent his head and kissed Erestor tenderly. Then he turned the elf in his arms and they silently contemplated the sunrise.

~~*~~

“You wanted to see me, Sire?” Thranduil ducked his head in a short bow as he stepped into his father’s chambers. He suspected the reason his father had sent for him, but he kept his face impassive and eyes shuttered, giving away nothing.

“Come in, iôn.” Oropher waved him to a nearby chair. “And do not behave as though you expect a reprimand. Can a father not wish to talk to his son?” he asked as he poured a glass of wine and offered it to his son.

“Forgive me, Adar. I assumed the worst.” Thranduil sat down and accepted the offered drink, nodding gratefully when the cool white wine washed away the dust from the practice arena. “Most refreshing. Thank you.”

After he set the glass down, he turned back to his father. “So what do you need of me?

Oropher’s lips curled up in a slight smile. His son was no diplomat and had zero patience, not exactly good traits in a crown prince. Nevertheless, his people were very encouraging and fond of the prince, so the king never corrected him.

The minutes drifted slowly past and Thranduil wondered why he was forced to sit here and drink in silence. He tried to sit quietly and not let his mind wander. If he did, he knew that he would be thinking of grey eyes and soft lips and likely reveal where his thoughts led.

When he felt his son had stewed for long enough, Oropher turned piercing blue eyes onto his son and made a simple declaration. “Stay away from that Noldo… just stay away from **_all_** of them, iôn. It is not merely a suggestion any longer since you have seen fit to ignore me before this.”

Biting back a retort, Thranduil gripped the arm of his chair and clenched his already tight muscles. He needed to be careful with this. It was too important to allow his temper to get the best of him. “Adar? I do not know who you are speaking of…” he tried.

“Stop it. I had you followed… when I suspected. You will thank me for this. You cannot trust the Noldor.” The king took a deep breath. “I forbid you from seeing **_that_** Noldo, or any other. It is for your own good. Look what happened… my sister would yet be alive if it was not for the lies and treachery of the Noldor.”

“Adar!” Thranduil stood, unable to contain his fury. “Elrond and Gil-galad had nothing to do with the destruction of Doriath! You cannot hold them accountable for the actions of others!” He paced in order to give outlet to his anger.

“I can and I will. You are my subject, iôn, and you will abide by my dictates.”

“Nay.” Thranduil trained fever bright emerald eyes upon his father. “I will not… can not. And furthermore… **_should not_**.”

“What?!” Oropher’s bellow reverberated throughout the room.

Taking a deep breath, Thranduil calmed himself and dropped gracefully to his knees before his father. He ducked his head in submission to prove his loyalty before speaking softly. “Sire, we are a young and growing realm. The Noldor are our allies and we need their support. How can we hope to gain aid if we do not trust them?”

The prince risked looking up and met his father’s still furious gaze. “Adar. I know you miss Orodiel and feel her absence keenly, but it was not only the Sindar that were affected… Elrond suffered greatly under the same hands. You both have more in common than you imagine.” He reached out and grasped one of the king’s hands. “Please, Adar? Consider my words?”

Oropher blinked. His son might have a point. He lifted Thranduil’s chin and shook his head. “You have her eyes. And her will. Orodiel loved that damnable Noldo so much… she paid for it with her life. I do not want that for you. I could not bear it.”

“Adar.”

Oropher held up his hand. “Enough.” That one word was hard, but his eyes were no longer sharp with anger, instead they were thoughtful as he looked down at his son. “Let me think on it. Give me a week. Surely you can stay away from him for a week?”

Thranduil nodded slowly, reluctantly, as he felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach.

“Good. Now leave me. There is much for me to ponder.”

The prince stood and wrapped his arms about his father, brushing a soft kiss to his head before he hastily made his way out of the king’s room. If he had turned back, he would have seen his father’s concern and affection, emotions that were usually carefully hidden from him, but he did not. It was unlikely that Thranduil would ever know the extent of the internal war between a father’s love and a king’s zeal; the clash that drove Oropher to hold his son at arm’s length and demand that Thranduil know his place and responsibilities above all else.

~~*~~

Thranduil walked down the long corridor, his steps echoing against the stone walls. He was lost in thought, his mind musing on Elrond, of strong hands, soft lips, and smiling grey eyes. It seemed that the longer he went without seeing the peredhel, the stronger his obsession. He grimaced when his father’s words came, unbidden, to him.

 _“You are right, iôn. I have been unfair in my contempt for those of this realm, so I intend to fix that. I will be staying through autumn, but you are returning home… now. One of us needs to be there and, as you have so correctly pointed out, you already understand our Noldorin brethren and do not need further time… to learn their ways.”_

The prince’s steps faltered. He was leaving and had not even spoken to Elrond about it. As he turned a corner, he shook his head, trying to clear it, when he was grabbed, a hand clamping over his mouth.

Luckily for his attacker, Thranduil recognized the cool, clean scent of Elrond and did not fight him. He allowed himself to be pulled into a spare room, wincing as he was shoved bodily against the hard door.

Elrond had not removed his hand and pressed the prince firmly against the carved wood, a thigh wedged between Thranduil’s legs. His breath was coming in short puffs against the prince’s cheek. When Thranduil looked up, he met eyes stormy dark with anger. The grim visage and firm torso pinning him lit a spark of answering anger, but Elrond shifted, his thigh pushing more tightly against the prince’s groin and a heat wave of desire overtook him. His moan was muffled by the palm covering his mouth, and he could not arch into the touches, so Thranduil did all he could. His eyes gleamed wickedly and he licked Elrond’s palm, slowly and teasingly. He moaned again as the taste of sweat and ink burst on his tongue.

The peredhel pulled away as though burned, his face flushed and his gaze heated. He was panting and tried to turn away, but Thranduil’s hand shot out and gripped his bicep, tugging him back. The other hand reached up and tangled in silky dark strands, as a single pleading word slipped past his lips, “Elrond.” Then the firestorm broke over them and their lips and bodies crashed into each other. Days apart had fueled their need and desire, whipping them both into a frenzy.

They barely made it to the slip-covered sofa, frantically shedding their clothes as they moved, their bodies never ceasing contact. Drinking from each other as though reaching fresh water after an age in a desert, their bodies met and melded in a whirlwind of heat, unspoken emotion coursing through them, driving them faster and higher until they broke, keening their fulfillment.

Sated, heavy, and boneless, Elrond slipped to his side and pulled Thranduil close, their heart beats slowing, their eyes drowsy. His head spun and the words stuck in his throat. He did not know how to ask or how to say what was in his heart. “Do not hide from me again, ernilen.”

Thranduil tensed and then sighed, burrowing his face into Elrond’s neck. His eyes stung and he clamped them closed. Instead he tightened his hold, took a shuddering breath, and spoke through clenched teeth. “I will not… cannot…” He kept his face buried, breathing in deeply of the scent of Elrond mingled with his own. “I… I… Gods! I am leaving… being sent home…”

The words pierced his heart, tearing it wide open once again. Elrond had tried to steel himself these past days, to convince himself that what had happened between them had no meaning, that it had been a fun interlude and nothing more. Instead, the longer they were parted, the worse in turmoil his emotions became. He was well and truly lost and now the prince was leaving. Tamping down his anger, his hurt, his frustration, Elrond licked his lips, and lifted his hand. He tenderly cupped Thranduil’s cheek stroking along the strong bone and down his jaw before lifting his chin and forcing their eyes to meet.

“By your choice?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Thranduil reluctantly looked up and shook his head. “Nay! I do not want to leave!” he avowed. He surged forward pressing their lips together, demanding entry, desperate to show Elrond his true feelings even if he could not voice them.

Elrond groaned and allowed his mouth to be plundered, but he did not submit easily and soon his tongue was questing, tasting the prince. He could never get enough of that heady flavor. When he had to pull away, gasping for breath, storm dark eyes fixed Thranduil, saying what he could not give voice to.

By silent agreement, they spoke no more and put their limited time together to better use than by merely talking.

~~*~~

Elrond leaned casually against the railing at the top of the steps to the courtyard, silently watching. His mithril hued eyes appeared to be surveying the departing party’s readiness, but they never strayed far from the prince and his king as they said their farewells.

Lord Galion stepped away from the scene and strode up the stairs, his eyes fixed on the peredhel. Elrond refused to shift under the intense gaze and met it with one of his own, an eyebrow arched in enquiry.

Galion placed his hands behind him and stepped beside Elrond, his face forward. He pitched his voice low as he spoke. “The king is nearly finished. When he leaves, go to Thranduil… this is hard enough on the prince. He deserves a proper goodbye.” Galion turned his head toward the peredhel. “Please do not hold the king’s attitude against his son.” With that, he strode away.

Elrond gaped over his shoulder at the retreating form. He would never have believed that the stiff and overly formal servant actually gave a damn about the prince. His concern had only seemed to be for propriety, appearance, and rules, but he had just been proven wrong.

When he turned back, Oropher was swiftly moving up the stairs, brushing by him as he left the courtyard. Elrond lifted his eyes and met Thranduil’s gaze. He strode down the steps and, completely uncaring of the public venue, wrapped his arms around the prince, tipped him back, and crashed their lips together.

The prince’s personal guard immediately found themselves busy with packs and saddles, hastily turning away from the scene between Elrond and Thranduil, to give the pair some semblance of privacy.

Thranduil was literally swept off his feet. He grabbed onto Elrond’s arms and moaned as his mouth was plundered and his body was held tightly against the peredhel’s muscular form. When they began to see stars, Elrond pulled back and righted the prince who stood, dazed for a brief moment.

Elrond grinned, cheekily. The flush that flared on the prince’s face, and his rapid breaths, showed that Thranduil was as affected by him as Elrond was by the prince. Tenderly, he swept a few strands of hair behind a delicately pointed ear. “I wanted you to remember me… until we meet again.” His voice was surprisingly steady and calm.

Thranduil swallowed and licked swollen lips. He mirrored Elrond’s actions by tucking in dark strands behind a softly pointed ear. “Will you write to me? Tell me how you fare and of your life here?”

“I will. You must write me, too… tell me what it is like living in the Greenwood.” Elrond leaned forward and let their foreheads touch as he spoke softly. “I will miss you. I already do.”

Thranduil sighed. “I do not want to leave… I have never…” He let the words die on his lips, still unable to speak of the depth of his feelings. He lifted his head and gave Elrond a mischievous smile. “I will try to return. Galion suggested that it might be… ‘prudent’ for the Greenwood to have an ambassador here. We plan to discuss it once Adar is settled in back home.”

Elrond blinked in surprise and then smiled broadly. “Ambassador of the Greenwood? You?” He chuckled. “You are not the diplomatic type, melethron, but I would not object… not in the least.”

The guards began to shuffle and stir as did their mounts. Thranduil looked over at them and frowned before he turned back to Elrond. “It is time,” he reluctantly declared.

Elrond nodded and then surged forward, meeting their lips once again, needing one last taste of his lover. He reluctantly pulled away and stepped back, their hands still entwined. Slowly he lifted Thranduil’s hand to his mouth and kissed each knuckle softly. “I would be lying if I said that this is not painful, but I would not have missed our time together even at the cost of my heart. I lo-…”

His words were stopped by the prince’s finger on his lips. Emerald eyes conveyed the truth, but they had agreed… it would remain unsaid.

They parted and Thranduil mounted his steed. Looking down at Elrond, his heart felt as though it was being ripped from his chest. He took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “Until we meet again, melethron…”

Elrond watched as the prince spurred his mount and his party clattered out of the courtyard. He stood watching until long after they had disappeared from view, his mournful heart beating in time to the gradually diminishing hoofbeats.

The End

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translations:**  
>  adar – father  
> ernilen – my prince  
> iôn – son  
> melethron – lover, male  
> peredhel – half elf


End file.
